e said gave warrant to the
rumors of trouble with Indians.

"My train was to have been ambushed at Deep Cut," he explained. "Big
force of Sioux. We were amazed to find them so far west. It would have
been a massacre--but for Casey.... We have no particulars yet, for
the wire is cut. But we know what Casey did. He ran the gantlet of
the Indians through that cut.... He was on a gravel-car running wild
down-hill. You know the grade, Neale.... Of course his intention was
to hold up my train--block us before we reached the ambushed cut. There
must have been a broken brake, for he derailed the car not half a
mile ahead of us. My engineer saw the runaway flat-car and feared a
collision.... Casey threw a railroad tie--on the track--in front of
him.... We found him under the car--crushed--dying--"

General Lodge's voice thickened and slowed a little. He looked down. His
face appeared quite pale.

Neale began to quiver in the full presaging sense of a revelation.

"My engineer, Tom Daley, reached Casey's side just the instant before he
died," said General Lodge, resuming his story. "In fact, Daley was
the only one of us who did see Casey alive.... Casey's last words were
'ambush--Sooz--' Deep Cut,' and then 'me fri'nd Neale!'... We were at a
loss to understand what he meant--that is, at first. We found Casey with
this little note-book and his pipe tight between his teeth."

The chief gave the note-book to Neale, who received it with a trembling
hand.

"You can see the marks of Casey's teeth in the leather. It was difficult
to extract the book. He held on like grim death. Oh! Casey was grim
death.... We could not pull his black pipe out at all. We left it
between his set jaws, where it always had been--where it belonged.... I
ordered him interred that way.... So they buried him out there along the
track." The chief's low voice ceased, and he stood motionless a moment,
his brow knotted, his eyes haunted, yet bright with a glory of tribute
to a hero.

Neale heard the ticking of a watch and the murmur of the street outside.
He felt the soft little note-book in his hand. And the strangest
sensation shuddered over him. He drew his breath sharply.

When General Lodge turned again to face him, Neale saw him
differently--aloof, somehow removed, indistinct.

"Casey meant that note-book for you," said the general, "It belonged
to the woman, Beauty Stanton. It contained a letter, evidently written
while she was dying.... This deve